


First round, I'll take my bows

by nauti_naughty



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Age Difference, Consensual Underage Sex, Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8812183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nauti_naughty/pseuds/nauti_naughty
Summary: He can practically hear Dipper gulping and he can see his expression shifting between emotions, as if he’s thinking hah, hard, about something. “U-uh, Grunkle Stan, I-I don’t know if I’m reading this right but…are you flirting with me?”





	

They’re standing in Stan and Ford’s new home, in a room big enough to be used for pretty much anything. It’s been a year since they’d had it built by Manly Dan and his family. The money Mabel had gotten them from her fight with that unicorn and the money Stan was getting as a partner, he may have passed ownership to Soos but that don’t mean he isn’t an investor anymore, in the Mystery Shack having paid for the place.

Him and Dipper are in one of the free rooms him and Sixer have spare, it’s where Stan usually stores his junk and some of his weapons, like his brass knuckles and guns not that he’s going to tell either of the twins about that last part.

Dipper fidgets in place, a hand running awkwardly through his hair as he stares at the punching bag to the left of Stan, he looks anxious but determined. If Stan’s being honest it’s a good look on him.

Stan scratches at his stubbled cheek and looks at Dipper with uncertainty, it’s not that he doesn’t think Dipper has what it takes but when Dipper first pulled him aside and asked for him to teach him how to box…well he hadn’t really thought it would go anywhere.

He’d thought Dipper would just forget about it or go to Ford instead, especially since Ford has all those cool moves he’s picked up whilst in the portal. Usually he can’t pry the kid away from the guy, it’s all ‘Ford’s so cool’ or ‘Me and Ford studied a magical species of moss‘ and that’s fine, he knows Dipper loves him; it’s the kids’ second summer with them after all.

He just…he gets insecure, okay? It’s been like a year since him and Ford patched things up and since they saved the world, but these feelings don’t just go away overnight, if ever. He doesn’t _need_ to be Dipper’s favourite or anything, but it’d be nice if they hung out more, which is why, despite being surprised as fuck, he’s grateful that it’s _him_ Dipper wants to learn from.

“You sure you still wanna learn, kid?” Stan asks as he riffles through his boxing memorabilia and hands Dipper a set of boxing gloves that should fit him. It’s the same boxing gloves he’d worn as a kid, they’re a little old and worn but Stan knows they should still be in working order, he’d spent hours refurbishing them after him and Ford had moved in. “I know you usually do this kinda stuff with Ford.”

Dipper shakes his head and slides the boxing gloves over his small, but strong hands. Clearly the kid’s been working out or something since they last saw each other, he can tell by the state of his knuckles; all bruised up and a little scarred, he had probably tried to train on his own before coming to him.

“Grunkle Ford likes using guns more.” Dipper explains, and he looks awkward for moment as if wanting to rub a hand at his neck. “Besides I wanted to spend time with you, Grunkle Stan. It’s, uh, it’s been a while since it was just us.”

It really had, usually the twins had drifted towards their respective Grunkles, or rather the ones they were closer to in turns of personality and whilst him and Dipper share more than a few traits it had always been his brother that the kid looked up to.

“You sure it’s me ya wanna learn from though?” Stan asks just to be sure, he doesn’t want the kid flaking out on him if he decides Stan ain’t who he really wants to be learning from. He doesn’t want that kind of punch to the gut. “Also, kid, why do you wanna learn to fight, anyhow? I thought you were more into all that science junk.”

Dipper nods with a small, almost coy looking, smile. “I’m sure, Grunkle Stan.” He replies before shrugging, his expression looking more than a little sheepish. “I am, into that ‘science junk’ I mean, but it’s not like I don’t enjoy other things too! Uh, it’s going to sound dumb but I want to be able to protect the people I love if anything happens, you know? Bill’s gone but…well-” He shakes his head to himself.

“-well, I’d rather have some kind of advantage just in case something happens someday.” Dipper continues.

Stan grins all wide; happy that it’s him Dipper came to for advice on protecting their family. It’s still hard getting used to having people that want him around, of having people that love and believe in him, people that love him and know who he is and not who he pretended to be. Years of having been alone had really taken a toll on him.

He places a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “That ain’t dumb at all! Honestly kid with reasons like that I’m proud of ya already. But don’t tell anybody I said that or I’m gonna knock you upside the head with the next newspaper I see, ya hear me?”

Dipper bobs his head in agreement, the corners of his lips are stretched upwards and Stan knows he must have said _something_ right and it fills him with a kind of warmth he doesn’t quite know how to identify. This fucking kid, Stan swears, is going to the death of him; a belief he’d always reserved for Ford up till now.

Stan raises a hand and gestures to the mat near the punching bag, “Well then, kid, you’re gonna want to get into your best stance. I’m not putting you in the hot seat ‘till I know what I’m workin’ with here.”

Dipper blushes a little at that and Stan quirks an eyebrow, confused as to why his words have that particular effect but he shrugs it off and moves behind him. The kid finally moves his limbs and manoeuvres himself into something resembling a fighting stance, it’s sloppy as heck but at least he isn’t forming fists with his thumbs tucked in like he remembers having done himself.

He circles around Dipper, his hands tucked behind his back as he critiques Dipper’s form. He hums and puts a hand on the boy’s forearms, he squeezes him there allowing himself to feel the muscle that Dipper’s clearly been trying to build.

Stan’s hand lingers on Dipper’s skin and he can practically feel the kid beginning to sweat, probably worrying about Stan’s opinion; he’s always been an anxious nerd, that kid. Stan bites his lip though because he can _really_ feel the definition Dipper’s starting to develop, it’s really something seeing as the first time he met this kid he could barely lift a branch.

It’s strange how people grow and change, isn’t it?

Stan hums to himself and lets go of Dipper, which is probably for the best; he doesn’t want to give the kid a heart attack because of all the anticipation. “You’ve got potential kid. You’re a little rough around the edges and the way ya hold yourself needs a little work, but you got moxie and a good base going on.”

Dipper grins ear to ear at that, obviously pleased with the praise. “I won’t let you down, Stan, I promise.”

Stan rolls his eyes and shrugs. “You better not, punk, neither of us wants the lecture Sixer will throw our way if ya don’t bring your A game, ya got me?”

“I’ll bring my A+ game!” He exclaims and then runs a hand down his own face and immediately tries to seem less dorky by lowering his voice, like he’s trying to be Batman or something, and replying with. “I mean I’ll do my best.”

If Stan’s eyes could roll any higher they’d be visiting the goddamn moon at this point, he loves this kid, but damn is he ever a dweeb. It’s honestly endearing, not like he’d ever admit to that though; he still has a reputation to maintain after all.

Stan nods to himself and gestures to Dipper. “If you’re gonna be taking on someone head on ya need to spread your legs outta a little, Dipper, ya gotta be able to stand your ground.”

“Oh, okay.” Dipper replies before trying to adjust himself, but to Stan his footing is still pretty clunky. “Is, uh, is this alright, Stan?”

Stan shakes head, it looks like he’s going to have to show the kid how it’s done. He moves behind him and he can feel Dipper practically jump in surprise when Stan puts his hands on the kid’s thighs. “Space your legs out a little, Dipper; think bow legged cowboy.”

Stan’s nostrils flare when he feels Dipper’s thighs shaking in his hands, when he sees Dipper’s face turn an inexplicable shade of red, almost as red as his boxing shorts. “Don’t lock your muscles, I can feel you tensing up.” Stan remarks and almost unthinkingly he’s squeezing Dipper’s thighs, petting them in an attempt to massage loose the coiled up muscles underneath his hands.

In the corner of his eye he can see Dipper’s face darkening further, reddening as bright and vibrant as a freshly grown tomato. He bites his own lip…he isn’t blind; he knows embarrassment when he sees it, but more importantly he knows _arousal_ when he sees it too. The real tell-tale sign is the dilated pupils trying to avoid locking with Stan’s own eyes, Stan sighs; he also knows _shame_ when he sees it too.

He squeezes Dipper’s thighs one more time, just for conformation, or so he tells himself. He’s no stranger to justifying his shittier actions. Stan’s eyes widen in surprise when he hears Dipper grunt against his will and when Stan feels something nudging against his hand. Stan’s not a rocket scientist but he doesn’t need to know quantum mechanics, which considering he fixed the portal he does know a little something, something about the subject, to know that Dipper’s hard against his hard.

“Kid…” Stan begins, voice lower and huskier than normal but not in anger but in…well, fuck, in _arousal_. Stan’s always been a physical person, if somebody, somebody he _cares_ about, is turned on it’s super fucking likely he’s going to pop a stiffy too.  Probably something about them mirror neurons he heard Ford talking about once.

Dipper is quiet all save for how his breath keeps whooshing out and Stan can feel the kid’s heart beating frantically through his pulse.

“Hey.” He starts, trying to mould his tone into something reassuring. “Hey, kid, it’s okay.” Stan tells Dipper. “Hah, when I was your age I was poppin’ boners all the time and for much less than somebody getting’ up in my business and groping my goddamn thighs.”

“Y-you, I-I. I’m sorry…”

Damn, the kid really _is_ feeling shitty about this and Stan knows it’s his fault. He’d been too hands on, not really thinking about how a kid who’s nearly fifteen and in the midst of some hardcore puberty action might react to a hand near his groin. “Don’t apologize, Dipper.” He pats the kid’s thigh, trying to communicate that no, Stan does not hate him or think he’s weird or anything; which is a valid concern when you’re a kid.

“It’s completely natural, ya know? If Ford was here he’d be tellin’ ya about puberty statistics or something nerdy like that.” Stan smiles, maybe it’s a dick move to keep his hand on the kid, to be teasing him this way but he can’t help it. “But it’s _me_ ya talkin’ to here, kid. I don’t think I need to tell ya I’ve been around the block when it comes to stuff like this, I mean I know you were in my mind that one time, ya probably saw some _interesting_ stuff anyhow, right?”

At that Dipper blushes further and Stan can’t help but wonder what that blush would taste like on his tongue. Fuck, he’d been trying to ignore it, been trying to pretend that he didn’t want to feel his great nephew up, but damn it’s hard to deny that kind of shit when the kid is literally hard inches from his hand.

He can practically hear Dipper gulping and he can see his expression shifting between emotions, as if he’s thinking hah, _hard_ , about something. “U-uh, Grunkle Stan, I-I don’t know if I’m reading this right but…are you flirting with me?”

Stan laughs. Wow, he really didn’t think Dipper would be the one making the first step, he’d thought he’d be the one putting the moves on the kid, this? This is a pleasant surprise, it’s probably the kind of surprise he should be put in jail for wanting given how old Dipper is.

“What do you think?” He asks as he leans close enough to Dipper that the boy can probably feel his breath tickling the nape of his neck, can probably feel his lips brushing his ear.

Dipper sputters and Stan can see his blush spreading to his ears and neck, he can’t help but wonder if it spreads further down too. Does that pretty shade of red spread down his neck until it reaches his chest? Does it colour his nipples as they grow firm? Or better yet does his cock grow flush with blood and rouge? Is Dipper a full body blusher?

He knows Sixer used to be back when they were younger and that he himself has had a few naked red incidents himself, but he’d never gotten to know Shermie in _that_ way. Maybe Shermie passed it down, maybe he didn’t; in any case there’s only one way to find out.

“I-I, uh, I think there’s a high, um, high probability you’re f-flirting with me?”

Stan laughs and uses his hand to rub at Dipper’s right thigh, massages it a little too. “You don’t sound too sure, kid.” He remarks with a smirk. “And say if I _were_ putting the moves on ya, would you be up for that, kid? Do ya wanna feel my hand on you, my hands touchin’ that hard little cock o’ yours? You sure ya want this? You gotta tell me if you do.” He leans forward and presses his teeth lightly against Dipper’s ear lobe, teasing it and testing it with his tongue.

“Communication’s important in a family, don’t ya think, Dipper?”

He feels Dipper do a full body shiver at his words and he smirks harder when he feels the kid’s dick twitching hard enough to rub up against the back of Stan’s hand. He even feels a little bit of pre-come seeping through the material of Dipper’s pants and coating his knuckles minutely.

“P-please.” He hears Dipper babble, voice warbling between a deeper tone and something high pitched and girly; ah the joys of puberty, no doubt.  “I-I, yes. Please Grunkle Stan, yes.” He continues, voice airy and distracted as his hips jerk ever so slightly.

Stan licks his lips at the slight and brief press of Dipper’s dick against the back of his hand. God, he sounds so fucking cute, so fucking hot when begging him. He sounds just _perfect_ when begging Stan for something hotter and heavier than the kid’s probably ever had. Has the kid even had his first kiss? Has anybody ever jerked him off? Stan probably shouldn’t be his first, yadda yadda something about propriety, yadda yadda something about _morals_. Two things that Stan doesn’t exactly have in spades or care about nearly as much as he probably should.

But still, maybe he shouldn’t be doing this; at the very least because he doesn’t want to give Dipper unrealistically high expectations about sex, not everyone can be as bad ass and as skilled at getting hot and heavy as Stan can.

Stan takes a deep breath and scans the room. He ain’t going to fuck Dipper, but he is going to get the kid off; Stan may be many things but when it comes to sex his partners always come first. Figuratively _and_ literally. He ain’t going to fuck the kid in some storage room without even a lick of lube, he’s got standards and the kid deserves much better than that. Definitely a bed at the very least, _maybe_ some roses too, depends on Stan’s mood.

He spies the punching bag not too far away and so he lifts his hands away from Dipper and leans away. Stan bites his lip at the mournful whimper that leaves Dipper’s throat, damn is that kid starved and hungry for this, for Stan’s touch; it really boosts the ego, that’s for sure.

Dipper hands clench at his side and he looks down skittishly. Stan knows that nerves are no doubt filling his stomach with butterflies, that his nerves are no doubt telling him that Stan’s going to stop. Too bad for either of them, in the long run, that Stan’s committed to this, committed to perverting their familial bond. “B-but Stan-” He begins, voice shaky with more than just anxiety Stan notes with a grin. “A-are you, a-are you going to-”

He presses a hand to the back of Dipper’s neck, trying to reassure the kid that this ain’t the end of their little moment. “Shush, shush, kid. Don’t worry I ain’t stoppin’, I’m just hoping to relocate this to somewhere you’ll have something to hold on to.” He points to the punching bag. “How about we move over there, huh? I wanna see you spread those arms of yours on that bag, wanna see it rocking as I touch ya, as I bring you over the edge. How’s that sound, Dipper?”

Dipper gulps and Stan can practically see the kids eyes dilating as he absorbs Stan’s words, he pretty much nods like an overenthusiastic bobble head as Stan turns him around to kiss him. Dipper gasps as Stan yanks him into a kiss, Stan’s big, meaty hand threading through the younger male’s curls; something he’d definitely gotten from Shermie and their side of the family.

As Stan manoeuvres Dipper closer to the bag he feels his way around the kid’s mouth with his tongue, poking and prodding and touching his tongue with Dipper’s until the kid is a shivery, moaning mess. To Dipper’s credit he kisses back with as much vigour and passion as he puts into his science shit, as he always puts into those little mysteries of his and, weird as it sounds, Stan appreciates that kind of attention.

He runs a hand through Dipper hair and grins when he sees that birthmark of his. He knows the kid hates it, but to Stan it’s just a physical reminder of how fucking different, how fucking _special_ the boy is. He leans forward and presses a kiss to it, his lips lingering on Dipper’s skin for as long as Stan can stand himself being a sappy fuck.

With a little bit of shuffling and several kisses that even leave him panting he manages to pin Dipper against the punching bag, the boy’s nails claw into the leather as Stan pumps him from behind. Dipper’s nails are making terrible, horrible, _sexy_ noises as Dipper scrambles for any kind of purchase, as he claws at the bag with every jerk and twist of Stan’s big, calloused hand.

Dipper keeps panting like someone’s beating the shit out of him, like his throat is somehow connected to his dick and that the grip Stan has around him is just choking the life out of him. He sounds the winded kind of horny, like he’s one step closer to fainting than he is to coming his brains out.  Stan won’t lie; horny and desperate is a good look on Dipper, he can’t wait to see what a toe curling orgasm looks like on his great nephew.

Sue him but the idea, the mere prospect, of seeing Dipper twitch, writhe and finally, _finally_ come is hot as fuck. If his kidneys weren’t already in shoddy shape he’d have considered selling them just for a sneak peak of the kid getting his rocks off. _That’s_ how much he wants to see Dipper blow his load; it isn’t classy, but it’s the truth.

He twists his hand at the top of Dipper’s dick and he can feel his hand getting sticky and wet from the pre-come beading at the tip. His eyes go lidded at the sensation of Dipper growing fuller and harder in his grip, he can feel himself grinning sharply; knowing Dipper is getting off on his touch is enough to make his own straining erection torture.

He takes out his own cock and starts jerking himself in tandem, nothing too fancy; it’s all about the kids, it’s all about bringing Dipper pleasure, all about getting his favourite nephew off.

He tightens his grip and starts moving his hand faster, his thumb massaging circles at the top of the head every now and again when he slows down his pace a little. Dipper’s reaction is fucking immediate as he starts making these little noises that leave Stan absolutely hard as a rock, Jesus Christ this kid is going to be the death of him.

Forget Sixer’s weird ass experiments and reckless nature, it’s this hot as fuck teenager that’s going to kill him. Probably with some kind of sex related heart attack. 

Dipper spreads his legs and starts pumping his hips to fuck the tight ring of Stan’s hand and Stan can’t be any prouder; god does he love a partner that takes what they want from him, that uses his body for their pleasure. Maybe one day he’ll have the kid fuck him, maybe one day he’ll have the kid fucking coat his insides and fill him to the brim.

For now, though? For now he’ll just have to settle for how Dipper rocks his hips, for how he’s practically banging his own head against the bag with how fast and how hard he’s moving back into Stan’s hand. “Grunkle Stan.” He groans. “G-grunkle Stan, _please_.”

Stan smirks and loosens his grip but increases the speed of his hand. “Please what, Dipper?” He flexes his hand for a second, letting the kid feel just how good it could be, just how _hot_ it could be if he begs, if he asks for what he wants.

He can practically see sweat dripping down Dipper’s forehead, sliding down and lingering on his neck. He leans forward and sucks at Dipper’s neck, his teeth scraping lightly against the skin and he hears Dipper moan against the leather of the punching bag. “Please Grunkle Stan.” He continues. “Please let me come.”

Stan grins from ear to ear, his smile sharp and lethal. “That’s all ya had to say, kid.” He replies before he tightens his hand around Dipper, before he starts sucking at his neck and leaving hickeys they’ll both no doubt regret later.

Stan jerks himself off at the same time, hand moving fast enough to give him fraction burns and he can feel his own balls tightening, ready to spill over, but not before he brings Dipper over the edge.

It doesn’t take long for Dipper to come with a loud moan, his arms shake as they wrap around the bag as he fucks Stan’s hand, as he thrusts his hips hard enough for his balls to slap against Stan’s wrist. His groans echo throughout the room as he paints the inside of Stan’s palm white. Stan comes soon after, his voice a loud grunt as his ejaculate makes a mess of Dipper’s red shorts.

They both pant for a while, Stan lightly leaning his head against Dipper’s back as they both try to calm their breathing down. He can feel the kid’s heart beating frantic underneath him, can even hear it a little too and it’s super fucking satisfying hearing how much that orgasm affected him, hearing how much the kid’s still reeling from his touch.

Stan smiles against the fabric of Dipper’s shirt and with a smirk he wipes his hand clean on the kid’s ruined shorts; training Dipper sure is going to be fun, that’s for sure.


End file.
